Philadelphia Noir - Carlin Romano [83]
He was right about the lack of conversation emanating from the impromptu stage. The boon companions of my days and nights had fallen silent, although I was certain the cause was Becky’s declaration that she intended to divorce William Taitt. I decided to rectify the situation. There, with evening fast approaching, with the background rumble of horse-drawn tourist carriages and the drone of the drivers spewing out farfetched data about the birthplace of liberty, I would do my part as a patriotic citizen. I would welcome each and every stranger, and give them the benefit of my insights into our city and its customs.
“That’s because Becky—Mrs. Taitt—announced she was going to leave her husband. Martha and Kelman are mulling over her words. Divorce is commonplace now. It was scandalous in the mid-1800s. Unheard of, actually.”
The man glowered, moving his mouth in wordless spasms as if he were trying to lip-read. I realized a dissertation on Victorian-era mores was reaching a trifle higher than desired.
“Let me back up and explain the situation. I’m an author, their author. These are my characters. I specialize in historical novels. You may not read that genre, but it’s what I write. And I’m guessing you’re here because you enjoy learning about history, isn’t that correct? You like drama blended with fact.” I smiled at the confrontational creep and all the other playgoers who were now viewing me with a mixture of hostility and confusion. Despite their antipathy, I beamed. Showing off your creation(s), even when the moment is improvisational and the audience unreceptive, is a heady experience.
“This is Martha Beale, a Philadelphia heiress, and Thomas Kelman, her suitor. He wasn’t born into her social sphere, but never mind about that at the moment. More important is the fact that he has a special political appointment to the city’s mayor. I should explain that there was no centralized police force at the time in which my novels are set. Kelman solves crimes. That’s his raison d’être. And Becky, well, she really is an actress. Or she was. A famous one. From England. She’s retired from the stage at the moment; her husband’s a member of the aristocracy. As you just heard, he owns a plantation in the South, which wasn’t uncommon. Many upperclass Philadelphians were married into Southern families. Our commerce was also closely intertwined. That’s why the city was bitterly divided at the onset of the Civil War. You have only to read S.G. Fisher’s treatise on race to appreciate how impassioned sentiments were, though I warn you his views are alarming. I’m getting ahead of myself. I apologize. The period in question, which Becky, Martha, and Thomas are presently discussing, is twenty years prior. You heard mention of the riots in—”
“Christ, lady, you’re a regular nut job.”
I studied the faces peering at me through the gloom. That seemed to be the general consensus. I also got the impression everyone wanted me to pipe down, so they could get back to watching the scripted drama instead of a disagreement between two audience members. The problem was that it wasn’t scripted. Not by me, at any rate.
At that moment, Martha turned her back on us all, took Becky’s arm, and began to stroll away. Kelman brought up the rear of the trio, keeping a slight distance between himself and the ladies so they could discuss Becky’s future in private. At least that’s the way the tableau appeared.
“You bitch. See what you done? All this woo-woo shit? The actors think you’re a loony-tunes too. They put court orders or somethin’ on weirdos like you. You better hope they’re not headin’ off to find a cop.”
I would have argued with the jerk, but I was worried he might take out his anger on my dog. Besides, he had a child with him. He began to trot after Thomas Kelman.
“Hey, buddy, I’ll make it worth your while. All of yous. The kid likes this stage-type shit, what can I say? Just finish up what you started before that kooky dame started bustin’ your chops. I’m no sensitive Sally; if your friend wants